


Blackout

by showbizcastiel (orangesofsymmetry)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesofsymmetry/pseuds/showbizcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Castiel will look celestial, almost like he’s lit from the inside when he fixes Dean with an intense, life-affirming stare and tells him that he <i>knows</i>.</p>
<p>Dean thinks about kissing him a lot. He also thinks about leaving and the knife that he sleeps with beneath his pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title for this fic: The Canon High School AU That No One Asked For
> 
> basically, heaven isn't corrupt, castiel is sent to protect the winchesters and prevent the apocalypse and somewhere along the line falls in love with dean. so like, it's almost the show.

The sun is setting; apricot, dusty pink and heather along the horizon, fading into hazy blue then violet then midnight. The Impala is rumbling gently beneath Dean’s feet, and the combination of the noise, Sammy’s snores and the soft light is enough to lull him into security.

 

John is humming Bowie behind the wheel and Dean whispers the words to himself, feeling hollow as the ground swallows the sun further and the light recedes.

 

Dean doesn’t sleep until the sky is a pool of ink and the streetlamps blend into the stars, and even then it is fitful. He dreams of black eyes and deep shadows and a searing glow in his peripheral vision.

 

+

 

John drops them off at school twenty five minutes late with three dollars for lunch between them.

 

Dean's tired; too tired to sit in a classroom and pretend that he's mentally stable for six hours, but he and Sam trudge to the reception to sign in anyway.

 

He scuffs the ground with beat trainers and angles his jaw up in a defiant sort of way, or so he hopes, and tries to make himself look as unapproachable as possible. Next to him, Sam's weak grin looks more like a grimace, and he tugs on his sleeves nervously. Dean’s fully aware that they look like a right pair; Sam’s hoodie is about three sizes too big and hangs off his tiny frame in a way that makes even Dean worry about him, and Dean’s own clothes only fit slightly better.

 

The woman at reception picks up on this, and tells them with soft eyes that if they ever need anything the counsellor is just down that hallway there, sweethearts, and hands them application forms for bursaries. Dean is more grateful to her than he lets on, both for not prying and for giving them a stable way of eating every day.

 

“This doesn’t seem too bad.” Sam says, on the way to their classes, and he sounds hopeful enough. Dean says nothing, but he smiles and ruffles Sam’s hair and then shoves him off down the hallway to his class. He watches Sam walk for a moment too long and then wanders hopelessly until he comes across his classroom.

 

His teacher's greeting smile is tired, but kind, and she waves her hand noncommittally in a gesture that doesn’t entirely settle Dean’s nerves, but at least she doesn’t ask him to introduce himself to the class.

 

“Dean, right?” She starts, “Please try to not be late again.”

 

Dean makes a vague noise of apology and perches at an empty desk, on edge from years of hunting and repressed social anxiety, and drops his head into his hands.

 

+

 

He eats lunch alone, but a girl across the canteen smiles at him, and he sees Sam sat with a group of kids that seem nice, so it’s not all bad.

 

+

 

There's a boy sitting across from him in Math class with the most incredible eyes that he's ever seen. Dean tries to focus on his textbook, but his brain can’t settle to quadratics with Sex Hair so close.

 

The teacher continues to monotone his way through an explanation of the quadratic formula. Dean tunes out.

 

When he next glances up, Jawline is looking at him as if he is looking at something precious. Dean’s blood runs cold and hot at the same time.

 

+

 

“Hello.”

 

Dean looks up to glare at the voice, but softens when his eyes meet cerulean and he finds himself returning the tentative smile that the boy is wearing. “Um. Hi?” Dean offers, and Cheekbones tilts his head to the right, gaze deepening. Dean takes a bite of his sandwich and scatters his vision to the bit of lettuce that pokes out of the bottom.

 

When he looks up again, Pretty Eyes is still staring.

 

Dean chews, and then cautiously, says, “I’m Dean?” The staring is starting to get weird.

 

“I know.” He shoots back and then pauses.  Dean’s sure he hasn’t blinked yet, and finds himself re-evaluating. Yeah, he’s hot, but this is _weird._ “I’ve heard about you.” He says eventually, but it sounds like it’s a question, as if he’s looking for approval. It reminds Dean a little of how he talks to John.

 

“I’m Castiel.” He adds after another awkward lull and forces a smile that seems alien on his face, like he’s only just remembering how human social interaction works. “It’s nice meeting you, Dean.” Castiel says, and sits. Dean nearly laughs, but he reckons it would be impolite and he doesn’t necessarily want to scare off someone so hot so soon.

 

They eat together in silence, Castiel taking careful bites from his sandwich and chewing like he doesn’t quite understand, nose wrinkled in mild distaste.

 

He’s _weird_ , but not unkind, and Dean can’t see the harm in letting Castiel stick around for a while.

 

Plus, it’s not like Dean himself will be sticking around at the school long anyway.

 

+

 

He and Castiel build a firm, steady rapport.

 

It starts with a polite nod here and there, or maybe a smile, and in lessons when they have to partner up Dean’ll work with Castiel. And they sit together at lunch and eat their sandwiches even though Castiel appears to dislike everything about the combination of bread and filling.

 

After two weeks, Dean realises that they’re friends, and that any day now he’ll be leaving.

 

+

 

Sometimes Castiel will look celestial, almost like he’s lit from the inside when he fixes Dean with an intense, life-affirming stare and tells him that he _knows_.

 

Dean thinks about kissing him a lot. He also thinks about leaving and the knife that he sleeps with beneath his pillow.

 

+

 

John comes back to the motel a weeks later nursing a broken leg and a hangover. He and Sammy patch him up good, but he’s out of action for a while, and Dean is so happy that he almost doesn’t feel guilty.

 

+

 

Sam tells them about a girl in his math class on the walk back to the motel. Dean smirks at his enthusiasm and Castiel listens intently, though offers no input.

 

"And she's so cool, y'know, Dean? She likes all the music you like, too, I think you'd really like her."

 

Dean groans and says, “You are such a little nerd,” though it lacks any real venom.

 

“Shut _up_.” Sam whines and manages to restrain himself for all of thirty seconds before he says, “I don’t even know if she likes me, Dean. Like,  _like_  likes me, y’know? How are you supposed to _know_?”

 

Castiel suddenly looks very interested in Dean’s response. Dean bumps his shoulder gently and says, “I don’t know, Sammy. Sometimes I guess you just gotta go for it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watches Castiel’s eyebrows knit together.

 

Sam ducks straight into their room when they get back, the little observant _shit_ , and Dean suddenly finds taking his own advice very difficult.

 

“Dean –” Castiel starts in that stupidly deep voice of his, and Dean can’t help but lean forward and kiss him. Castiel goes very, very still for a moment, and then Dean moves his hand to cup his jaw and Castiel just _melts._

 

Dean resolutely doesn’t think of anything but the way that Castiel’s mouth felt against his own, even when John says that they’ll probably be leaving in a week.

 

+

 

Their friendship blends swiftly into something more. Castiel is attentive and sloppy and ill practiced everywhere where Dean is impersonal and knowledgeable. They barely function apart. Dean doesn’t think about salt lines and Devil’s traps and not being around Castiel all the time, though there’s an inevitability there, and one night when they steal some time alone, Dean whispers his confession that he’s scared of leaving.

 

Castiel says nothing, but his stare is meaningful, and Dean finds himself comforted if only for a moment.

 

+

 

Dean wakes up to the sound of ripping flesh. The room smells of copper and there’s a weight on his chest.

 

A hand is gripping his jaw, guiding his eyes to the bed next to his. Sammy’s corpse is mutilated, unrecognisable. John is lying in a pool of blood.

 

Dean doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t breathe.

 

He is only briefly aware of losing consciousness.

 

+

 

The room is bleached white.

 

Castiel is stood at the foot of his bed, heavenly and majestic, blue light seeping from his hands and eyes, tendrils curling around his fingers. The room is blisteringly hot, bright and Dean’s body is aching and resisting.

 

He is, surely, dead.

 

“Dean.” Castiel says, and light spills from his mouth. His voice is seismic, other-worldly. The windows vibrate in their frames. “You are safe now.”

Air splutters into Dean’s lungs and, as the light fades, Sam and John spring awake.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a re-upload of a fic of the same name that i posted almost a year ago, but, y'know, with upgrades.  
> also, no research was done into the american school system or anything, but all the school scenes are vague enough that i though that probably didn't matter that much? i tried?


End file.
